Black Widow, The Story of a Tank Grown Human
by Zefram C. Slander
Summary: "The created will always rebel against the creators" proves true as a tank grown human woman, Tara, struggles to find her place in the galaxy while being hunted by mercenaries and the shadowy corporation that created her.
1. Chapter 1

Black Widow A Mass Effect Fan Fiction By Zefram C. Slander

Chapter 1:

She had developed an excellent rapport with the wall, that was something at least. It was impossible to stay completely sane when confined to a 6x8 cell intended for livestock, but at least the voice wasn't compelling her to kill - or worse - yet.

"Elkoss rifles are crap, everybody knows that." She shouted, staring at her own warped reflection in the greasy, polished metal that passed for a mirror.

The wall responded, it was her own voice, but lower, and it echoed inside her head, while seemingly emanating from the wall itself as well. "A skilled operator can make them sing, there are mercenary snipers with impressive kill counts who swear by the XQ-T5, you should know that, Tara."

"I'll grant you that point, but quality has declined markedly since they moved their manufacturing facilities to the Traverse, and the snipers you-I-mention racked up those counts before the change over." She replied, with resigned anger.

Her voice softened and she looked intently at her reflection, passing a hand through her short, matted, blonde hair."I'm done with you - for now, Wall, but I assure you this isn't over."

She was still sane enough to make the voice go away when she wanted to, and, if anything, her daily arguments with the Wall, kept her reasoning and speech skill intact - though every time the wall replied she knew it was a sign of her loosening grip on reality. She'd cut their conversation short because something in the mirror had caught her attention; her cheeks were getting fairly gaunt, faster than she had expected and her eyes had taken on a tired look that she had seen many times on the faces of shellshocked mercs and sick civvies. She'd been eating and sleeping periodically, though not well in either case, still, she was disturbed by the amount of decay. She was still glowing though, her irises and pupils had a faint blue shine behind them, it changed intensity and shifted position slightly, as the colony of nanomachines within them circulated in their dormant state. This made her happy, the glow reminded her of her power. She rolled up one sleeve on her dirty, ill fitting jumpsuit and traced with her finger a pair of centimeter thick, slightly raised, glowing blue lines that ran from her shoulder down to her wrist, both belling out at the end into a 5-centimeter in diameter glowing blue circle. She had an identical set of lines (nanomachine conduits, to utilize official jargon) on the other arm, and a network of numerous thinner lines tracing every major pathway in her body - the spine, other limbs, etc.

Letting her sleeve unroll itself back into place, Tara paced about the tiny cell before settling onto the edge of her bunk, uncomfortable to say the least, the bunk was also smelly and stained, it served as the only seating, however, so she had little choice. Tara held her head in her hands, staring at the floor of the cell, she tried to relax. Some days she could will her mind into blanking out for a short time, and let it wander to somewhere - anywhere - else, today was not one of those days. Giving up after a few moments of concentration, she laid back on the bunk, turned so that she was facing the wall, closed her eyes and murmured quiet, comforting phrases to herself, hoping to drift off to sleep, unwilling to be silent, knowing she would hear the ravings of the other prisoners if she was.

"Shhhh, this is good, Tara…"

"Sleep now, Tara…"

"You're safe because you are alone, Tara…"

"All units: Shepard is loose, use lethal force if need be." This last voice was, of course, not her own, it could not be more different from her plaintive whispers, it was Warden Kuril's. Familiar to Tara, it prompted pangs of anger and fear.

Tara would have assumed she was hearing things, if the sound of gunfire and explosions, all too real, and all too familiar, had not soon followed. Her cell, one of thousands in block Q, shuddered and Tara picked up the faint aroma of acrid smoke and seared flesh. She practically jumped out of her bunk. This was very exciting. Was it a rival gang? Had the Suns finally locked up the wrong high value "guest" and attracted Council attention? No, Shepard, she remembered the name, Shepard was Alliance, but the Alliance had no reason to raid Purgatory, in fact, clandestinely, they were a client. Shepard was also dead, so it couldn't be the same Shepard, could it? It didn't matter. Tara's hearing, substantially enhanced, soon picked up the tell tale sound of structural fatigue, bordering on failure, from the Purgatory's lateral support members. If she didn't want to end up spaced, she'd have to book it.

Easier said than done, of course. Her cell was still locked down tight. She tentatively tapped the metal of the door, searching for weaknesses. A loud groan echoed throughout the cell block, Tara felt the floor shift, the rails and clamps holding her cell in cell in place had failed. Her cell slid downward, crashing to the floor of the central aisle that divided the seemingly endless ranks of cells, a highway for guards and new arrivals. The cell door was no longer connected to power, and had been knocked slightly out of locked position, Tara slid her hands into the gap, and applied as much pressure as possible, the metal cut into her palms, but finally gave way. With its fail-safe retaining pins warped or broken altogether, the door slid open easily but awkwardly and she stepped out of the cell.

Cell Block Q was swarming with other prisoners and guards, the entire population, it appeared, had been set loose. Sniper fire zipped past Tara, evidently directed at a prisoner who was attacking a squad of Suns with a stolen machine pistol. They hadn't noticed her. Tara found some cover in the form of large crate, and pressed herself up against it. The firefight with the prisoner was drawing to a close a few yards in front of her, another sniper shot, ill-aimed, glanced off the rear bulkhead of the cell block. "Whoever that shooter is, he is certainly horrible." Tara thought. If his marksmanship was any indication, he was a rookie, and a scared rookie at that. Easy pickings.

Tara slid out of the cover and looked for the sniper. The vapor trail from his last shot led right back to his position, which was hardly well concealed. The shooter was ducking behind cover of his own, on a raised guard platform about twenty meters behind her. He showed no cognizance of her, intently focused on helping his buddies defeat the horde of prisoners massing near the bulkhead. Tara flitted from cover to cover, using the chaos to her advantage, she was skilled, but not invisible, she would have been spotted long ago in a less frantic environment.

She reached the base of the guard tower as a primary structural member of the Purgatory gave way, dropping large chunks of debris into the cell block. Tara clambered up the ladder to the sniper's nest. Assuming a predatory stance, she approached the sniper. "The idiot has his barrel rested directly on the tower railing. You can't do that, ruins harmonics, that barrel is free-floated for a reason, you have a hand-guard, use it. No wonder you can't hit anything…" Tara observed the amateur sniper, slowly creeping towards him. What happened next was a combination of instinct, imprints, and experience. Tara grabbed the sniper, putting him into a headlock, she kicked his legs out from under him and secured his rifle. Still in control she edged towards the side of the tower and threw him off, he hit the floor with a dull thud followed by a sharp crack. The sniper moaned as Tara slid down the ladder after him, she strode over to him, placed her booted foot on his throat, pushed down and turned, snapping his neck and spine.

Tara winced, she hadn't killed in eight months, it felt strange, vaguely wrong. She searched the merc sniper's body, found a few precious thermal clips, and, more importantly, a combat knife. More explosions rocked the ship. She needed to do this fast. Tara took cover behind the guard tower, she put the combat knife in-between her teeth and rolled up her left sleeve. She searched for, and soon found, a patch of scar tissue on the inward-facing side of her left arm, steeling herself, she dug the combat knife into her arm near the tissue, it hit metal, Tara levered out a small black implant. Disgusted and in serious pain, she weakly but triumphantly chucked the implant onto the floor and crushed it. Freedom.

Blood dripped from the wound, but slowly, her blood was not normal, few parts of her body were, it appeared whitish-red, almost pink, and flowed more like a sludge, a side effect of the swarm of nano-catalyzed artificial coagulants currently zipping towards the injury. She'd have to find medigel to take the edge off the pain, aside from that, the nano's had stopped the bleeding and were quickly forming a bulwark against infection. The control implant was gone, finally, she could now manipulate firearms and deploy combat tech, two skills she'd need if she wished to survive. "You no longer own me, Suns." She said, to no-one in particular.

Her omnitool flickered back to life for the first time in months, she felt like an old friend had returned. Scrambling through the interface she reached the "Combat Applications" tab, executed a series of commands, and basked as a familiar tingle coursed through her body. The nanomachine conduits glowed a faint red as Foucault current generators embedded along them powered up. Tara's entire epidermis now glowed with a honeycomb of sparking blue lines, any incoming projectile would now be captured and then repulsed by Foucault current induced electromagnetic field.

Two Blue Suns were firing on a cluster of prisoners near the main airlock that led to the upper walkway network and the only viable way off the ship. Tara unholstered the rifle that she had taken off the merc she had killed a few minutes before, slipped into cover, and took aim. Her body recognized the sniper rifle as soon as the hand-guard contacted her palm, as she focused her aim, nanomachines coursed through her body, responding to her unique neurological signs of imminent long range combat. The nano's blocked alkaloids, lowered her heart rate, controlled her breathing and enhanced her vision 10-fold, all while filtering out stressful background noise. In this state of unnatural zen, Tara finished aligning a perfect shot, her hands as steady as any bipod or shooting rest. The trigger of the sniper rifle broke at a crisp 2.5 pounds, sending a 12.7mm fin stabilized tungsten round through the skull of the first merc and into the next one. Both dropped within milliseconds of the each other.

The rioting prisoners who had been pinned by the mercs dispersed, Tara gracefully picked her way to the ladder which lead to the enclosed catwalk, climbed it and entered the area normally reserved for guards and observers which overlooked the cell block. Shuttles would be docked near the secondary entrance, which was fairly well marked, with evacuation lights leading the way. The catwalks hugged the inner hull and had windows facing outward on one side and windows facing the cell blocks on the other, Tara peered out into the space for the first time in eight months, somewhere inside her she felt a strange mix of longing and fear. The Purgatory was now collapsing around her, whole sections of the catwalk gave way just as she crossed them, other hung on precariously, with fires raging below. Briefly pausing to get her bearings, Tara glanced out the window, in the corner of her eye she caught a small ship in yellow, black, and white livery fleeing the Purgatory, its heading suggested it had been docked on the other side of the ship. Cerberus. No surprise. She made a mental not to contact The Illusive Man and ask why they hadn't even bothered to try and evac her. Then again, maybe they couldn't actively support her, but were intentionally creating a distraction, allowing her to escapce. Unlikely, The Illusive Man had called her "broken" when she had last contacted his organization seeking contract work.

Finally, Tara reached the secondary entrance, as she had expected, there was only one shuttle left, three guards were squabbling in front of the hatch. Tara slipped into cover unnoticed, brought up her omni-tool, executed a single tagged command and took a quick, deep breath as her nanomachine conduits glowed violet, a few seconds later, she was invisible. Careful not to make any noise or sudden movements, Tara crept up behind one guard who was standing slightly apart from the others.

"But my stash!" The guard shouted at his compatriots. "We have to go back for it!"

One of the other two guards, the cool headed one of the bunch apparently, called back at the guard Tara was lurking behind.

"We'll get you more of that crap on Omega, now come on! I've lost enough friends today!"

"Sorry, sweetheart," Tara whispered as she silently summoned a forked blade of superheated plasma (suspended in a powerful mass effect field, allowing it to be a continuous object) from her omnitool, it was invisible as she was. In a single motion Tara decloaked and ran the guard through with her omniblade, it melted clean through his armor, leaving a massive smoldering gash in the middle of his gut. The other two guards stood stock still, completely stunned. One of them raised an assault rifle, Tara hit him with a crippling neural shock. Tara then relieved her first kill of his pistol, and shot the stunned guard in the head, the last guard bolted for the shuttle, an incineration blast stopped him - and melted him - dead in his tracks.

Tara holstered her new pistol and climbed into the shuttle, she looked around the shuttle's cabin, and confident she was alone, dropped the Foucault barriers, her nanomachine conduits faded back to a cool blue. Sliding into the pilot's chair, exhausted and drenched with sweat, she brought up the haptic nav interface. The dimwitted onboard VI buzzed to life:

"Emergency Scenario Confirmed, Security lockouts disengaged. State destination."

The Purgatory shuddered, now in its death throws. Time to go.

"Omega Nebula, Sahrabarik, Station ID: Omega." Tara replied.

"Destination confirmed. ETA: 36 hours. Omega Prime relay vectored and cleared."

The shuttle pulled away as the Purgatory finally broke apart.

Tara leaned back in the pilot's chair, wishing she had a change of clothes while simultaneously realizing, with a slight smirk, that a blood splattered prison jumpsuit wouldn't actually stand out on Omega. She passed a hand through her soaked hair, brushing away the many strands that were clinging to the back of her neck. Tara usually feared deep sleep - she hadn't known a night without nightmares since The Project was raided. For the first time since she became a guest on the Purgatory, however, she actually welcomed the warm embrace of drowsiness and drifted off without having to talk to herself. She didn't know what peace or comfort really felt like, but she imagined this was similar. 


	2. Chapter 2

Black Widow A Mass Effect Fan Fiction By CmdrSlander

Chapter 2:

The bright surgical light flicked on above her, nearly blinding Tara. She assessed the situation: she was seated, very nearly laying down, in a fully reclined examination chair, a quick attempt to ball her fists, which resulted in no physical movement, indicated that she was chemically immobilized. The room around her was spartan, with brushed metal walls and a spotless white tiled floor, lab coated figures shuffled about, staring at data pads or interacting with the haptic interfaces that seemed to be projected onto almost every flat surface. One of the doctors walked toward her, he had a steaming paper cup of coffee in his hand and was conversing with his assistant while reviewing a data pad intently.

"I was told this subject was special, and flew out to this rock to see for myself, give me the facts." He ordered.

"She has now been in development for approximately 12 weeks, 87% of that time has been spent in the Gen Tank. Physically she is 13 years old." The assistant replied, pulling up a projection of Tara's body on her omnitool.

"Why has she not been fully immersed?"

"We have been pulling her out periodically to assess the efficacy our imprints. Her neural pathways have been forming unique connections, Doctor Harris and I agreed that verbal interaction with the subject was needed to assess viability."

"And the nanomachines?"

"Her system has begun integrating them. We implanted conduits to direct and expedite their movement two weeks ago. Aside from the expected initial rejection, we which corrected for in the Gen Tank, it was seamless."

"What of the telomere alteration? Surely that failed, our facility had to flush all 32 subjects with that modification due to failed synthesis with the selected Alien components."

"We flushed all but this one." The assistant nodded towards Tara."The selected Asari telomeres have bonded properly, though only to a limited extent."

"Life span?" The lead doctor questioned, his bushy eyebrows arched.

"We had to limit bonding to preserve the subject, but we predict 300 years, at minimum."

The pair reached the examination chair.

"May I speak with her?"

"Of course doctor."

The doctor pulled over a stool and sat beside Tara. He looked at her expectantly.

"What is your name?"

Tara spoke politely, with a young, crisp voice. "Whatever name is assigned for the given operation."

"Very good."

"What is your role?"

Tara again spoke, as if reciting from a well memorized script. "Long range interdiction and infiltration, with secondary imprints for close quarters combat."

"Who do you serve?"

"Voss-Koight Biomedical and affiliated firms."

The doctor got up from the stool and shook the assistant's hand. "Superb work, forward all your methodologies to central, this is the breakthrough of the century."

He took a long drink from his paper coffee cup, and was in the process of crumpling it when the flash bang detonated. A System's Alliance ONI officer, flanked by about at least 20 armed marines walked through the newly breached lab door. VK security teams burst through the lab's rear entrance, and did not hesitate to open fire. Several marines fell, their blood glistened particularly red on spotless lab floor. The remaining marines opened fire with their M8s, sending streams of superheated tungsten into the security team. Their numbers thinned rapidly. The doctor, who had just recovered from the flash bang hauled himself up to edge of the the observation chair and drew a small personal defense pistol from his coat pocket. Franticly, he disengaged the safety; at first it looked as if he was going to open fire on the marines, but he turned back to Tara, winced, and unloaded a round into her skull.

* * *

Tara woke with a start, she was drenched with cold sweat and teary eyed. The voices echoed around her but could not be understood. Her muscles ached. She dragged herself out of the pilot's chair, taking notice of a button that pulsed steadily yellow on the command console in front of her. She took a deep breath, rubbed her eyes, and pressed the button. Static filled the cabin of the shuttle but soon resolved into a comprehensible message.

"Unidentified Shuttle 3-1, this Omega docking control." (docking was one of the few things actively organized by any central authority on Omega, starship collisions or a "log jam" in the approach vectors was, to say the least, bad for business.)

"Omega DC, this is Shuttle 3-1, requesting a berth."

"Very well, proceed to bay 43 on the lower expansion."

The shuttle VI picked up a data packet containing the exact location of the berth and all docking protocols as soon as the controller finished speaking. It banked the small craft towards the lower docks. Within a few moments it had nestled into a massive bay with scores of larger merchant and mercenary vessels. A docking bridge extended, clamping onto the side of the shuttle. Tara picked up her pilfered Sniper Rifle and pistol, holstering them as she made her way to the airlock. The hatch opened with a loud swoosh, as the air pressure equalized Tara took in Omega's unique and unwelcoming scent: ozone from ionized plasma discharges (the tell tale sign of a recent gun battle), spicy noodles, decay, and unwashed rabble. A Batarian approached the airlock as Tara stepped out, he had a shotgun trained on her chest.

"Docking fee: 205 Credits." He demanded, charging his shotgun.

Tara didn't have a credit to her name, but that wasn't a problem. With a simple thought from Tara, her omnitool flickered to life and fired a mild Neural Shock that dropped the Batarian to the ground in seconds, the alien writhed on the floor, both hands clutching his head in pain, but Tara felt no remorse, despite his current state he would be up and around in a few hours. Plus, under Aria's direction, docking on Omega was free of charge, as this laissez-faire approach brought in more business to her far more lucrative clubs and drug rackets. Therefore, the Batarian was in fact representing little more than a small time shake down operation and not an agent of docking control, which consisted primarily of overworked, stimulant-addled salarians.

Tara proceeded to the transport hub, pushing through mingling hordes of the galaxy's lowliest scum to clear a path. The rusted, abused cab stand had an antiquated capacitive touchscreen that was smeared with fingerprints and more than a little blood. Tara selected "Level 19 - Katian District" and futilely tried to wipe her hands on her jumpsuit before realizing it was almost as dirty. A beaten up air car with a sagging roof and cracked windows sputtered up to the stand, it attempted to open its passenger door to allow Tara to board, but failed to do so, irked, Tara lifted the gull wing door up manually and climbed inside. The air car ascended and joined the swarming traffic that coursed through Omega's dim, smoky thoroughfares, turning tightly around decaying blocks of apartments, most plastered with flickering holographic ad panels displaying a mix of Unified Trade English, Mandarin, Turian, Asari, and Salarian lettering or graphics (with occasional patches of simplistic Elcor and Vorcha markings) .

The air car made a last turn, slowed, and settled like an inebriated baby bird into a parking slot near the top of one of the housings blocks. Tara pushed the broken door open again and stepped out, sending the air car away with a swipe across the haptic interface projected onto its hood. From the parking area she took a rickety elevator up to floor 106 and proceeded down a poorly lit hallway, her hand instinctively moving closer to her holstered pistol as she walked. Finally she reached apartment 601. Tara placed her hand on a scanner next to the door, it beeped a moment later and opened the door.

The Cerberus safe house was a gleaming beacon of cleanliness compared to the rest of Omega. Tara stepped inside, and as soon as the door closed, let herself relax for the first time since stepping off the shuttle. Constructed as a prefab module and then installed in place of an apartment which had been burned by Vorcha gangs, is shared its layout and aesthetics with the highly functional, decently comfortable, Cerberus barracks that were common to all their outposts. It took Tara a moment for her eye's to adjust to the remarkably bright and even white lighting, when they did, she surveyed the room; two Cerberus operatives were sleeping on their bunks, a third was cleaning his Mattock heavy rifle at a small workbench.

"Operative." Tara curtly acknowledged the only other conscious person in the room.

He barely turned to look at her and replied, equally brief, "Contractor" before returning to his work.

The back of the room was lined with ranks of storage lockers, most were unused, Tara selected one and put her weapons inside, closed the door, and locked it with her unique DNA signature - standard Cerberus procedure. She then proceeded to the small room in the back corner that was separated from the main living space by a thin metal partition, it housed the shower. She undressed quickly, pulling off her hideous Purgatory jumpsuit and throwing it into a reclamation bin, watching with reserved glee as it was melted into omnigel and pumped off to be reused somewhere else on Omega. Tara turned on the shower, and stepped into it, she closed her eyes and luxuriated under the stream of hot water - it was her first proper shower in at least a month.

A polite synthesized voice from the shower control panel reminded her that water was rationed all times on Omega, and that her three minutes of daily bathing were almost at an end. Hurriedly she finished washing herself and was done seconds before the water cut off. Fans on the walls of the shower stall blew her dry.

Tara summoned some clothes, an unmarked version of the Cerberus officer's uniform, from the mini-facturing wardrobe's haptic console, it whirred and produced in seconds the desired garb in the correct size, delivering it in a folded, neatly pressed rectangle from the a slot at the base of the wardrobe. She set the clothes aside for the moment and set about fixing her hair, brushing it into a conservative, parted style that was common with female military personnel. As she looked at her reflection, Tara thought that, in 200 years, when nanomachines and the conduits required to host them were common on all but the most indigent people, she may be considered pretty, after all, she had a well proportioned face, with sympathetic green eyes and full lips (all genetically engineered to be attractive of course). For now, however, the nanomachine conduits running down every limb, the pulsing blue nanomachine colonies that inhabited her pupil's and migrated occasionally into her irises, as well as the shifting flecks of blue under her skin (stray nanomachines) were considered freakish and undesirable, especially after Saren's fate had become an open secret. She pushed this useless flight of speculation out of mind and finished getting dressed.

* * *

The Quantum Entanglement Communicator pad occupied a small secondary room of the Cerberus safe house, Tara stepped onto it, standing stock still as it scanned her in. Moments later, Tara found herself in The Illusive Man's lair via telepresence. The Illusive Man was sitting in his trademark chair facing the boiling sun, Tara heard the telltale clink of ice cubes against crystal as he lifted his glass to his lips and drank. Emptying his glass, he turned the entire chair to face Tara.

"Contractor Voss, I am glad to see you survived the incident aboard the Purgatory." He began.

"Your doing, I assume." Tara replied.

"One of our cells was involved, yes." The Illusive Man reached into his jacket and extracted a cigarette case, with a thoughtful look he removed one of the slender white and green cigarettes, lit it, and began to smoke.

"Should I be flattered?"

"No, I am afraid your recovery was not an objective. You are valuable, but replaceable." He took a long drag from his cigarette.

"No surprise. I believe your exact words were: 'Due to stability issues, Contractor Voss is no longer an asset to Cerberus operations.' Also, firing me with an extranet message, an extranet message written in the third person no less, most unkind, Harper." Tara's voice remained even in volume, but grew increasingly annoyed.

"You know I do not like that name."

"And I do not like being hung out to dry by the same fellow who called me his "personal angel of death" no more than two weeks before. Empirical evidence suggests what we like is immaterial to what occurs." Tara's clinical vocabulary and cool voice masked a serious desire to personally fling The Illusive Man into the gravity well of the dying star he was so fond of - but not before taking one of his ridiculous synthetic eyes as a trophy. He knew nothing of true biosynthetic fusion…

"You do realize, Miss Voss, that you are only standing in my safe house at this very moment - the only non-current contractor ever to do so - because I value your unique skill set. I do not wish to make an enemy of you."

"Very well, you can start by giving me my job back. The Suns cleared out my credit account and Omega is not a friendly place to a poor girl, much less so to one with my, shall we say, aesthetic disadvantage." Tara motioned towards the nanomachine conduit on her right arm, which was pulsing enough to be seen through her uniform.

"I'm afraid that is impossible at the time. The majority of our funds have been directed to an operation that I cannot discuss at any meaningful length with you, and it takes precedent over all other endeavors. I know how to contact you if a contract more suited to your abilities becomes available. You may stay in this safe house as long as is required, unless I deem you to be abusing the privilege."

"What am I supposed to do then?" She asked, almost rhetorically, Tara had expected rejection and begun formulating alternate plans as The Illusive Man droned.

"You were engineered to adaptive and clever." He switched now to thinly veiled sarcasm. "So, if you want my advice, assess the situation, adapt, and be clever about it." The Illusive Man smirked in a self congratulatory fashion, having uttered what he perceived to be a witty repartee and a brutal dashing of Tara's hopes all in a concise sentence. "Thank you, do not contact me again."

The QEC channel closed and Tara found herself back in the tiny, closet-like comm room.

Tara strode out of the comm room , cleared her armaments out of the Cerberus locker, and headed for the exit.


	3. Chapter 3

Black Widow, a Mass Effect Fan Fiction By CmdrSlander Chapter 3

The battered air car sputtered to a stop at the transport hub located just outside the Afterlife nightclub. To Tara's surprise, this car actually had a working door, which eased open automatically, accompanied by a pathetic hydraulic wheeze. This section of Omega was Aria's preserve, and was markedly cleaner than the less controlled sections in the lower expansions, there was still the usual grime and blood splatter, but one of Aria's peons had clearly made an effort to wash it off. A massive line had formed outside the club, the patrons waiting in it, most inebriated in some way, pushed and maneuvered, hoping to gain an advantage in position. An enormous Elcor in Aria's employ imposed order while a Krogan, who was able to move more freely, broke up scuffles and checked for VIPs.

Tara walked confidently toward the Krogan, who had just finished throwing a Salarian out of the club face first onto a bench 15 meters away - a fairly impressive distance. Tara confidently approached the Krogan, who straightened up at the sight of a clean, sober and well dressed woman with a large caliber rifle in a neoprene scabbard on her back. The latter was common, but the former was rare.

"I'm on the list." Tara declared.

The Krogan spoke with a politeness that seem exceedingly forced: "Name please?"

"Tara Voss."

The Krogan consulted his data pad.

"I don't see anyone by that name."

Tara moved toward the Krogan seductively, wrapping an arm around him and placing her open-palmed hand in the middle of his back. The Krogan undoubtedly read this act as a misguided attempt to win his favor through sexuality, in reality Tara had sent a small packet of data, in simple electronic impulse based binary, through his nervous system, out of the tip of his meaty finger, and into the data pad. Keeping up her act, Tara whispered, "Check again, for me."

"Nope."

Tara was puzzled, that data packet was so small and discreet, no modern security system could have filtered it out.

"Try scrolling down."

"Ah, yes, here you are, my mistake. Go right in." The Krogan motioned toward the main entrance of Afterlife.

Tara pulled away from him, hiding her disgust at having to touch him at all, and headed into the club.

* * *

Tara hated noisy places, especially noises places full of people, she could sit motionless on a ridge, cloaked, watching a target go about his business for days, but she couldn't stand five minutes in Afterlife. The data packet she had given to the Krogan had propagated throughout the Afterlife intranet from his data pad, and she received no trouble from the guards as she approached Aria's perch. Once there, however, she found it conspicuously empty. A guard approached her:

"Aria is in her private office, normally you'd have to wait here for her but the 'net says you are high priority VIP. I'll need to go with you though, can't have you wandering around the admin areas unattended."

Tara thanked the Batarian guard and followed him through an inconspicuous door at the back of the club. Behind the door was the main kitchen, a flurry of activity - pots clattered and cooks shouted orders back and forth while everything from chicken to varren was sliced and grilled atop unsafe looking open flames. At the rear of the kitchen was a door protected by a retinal scan, which the guard passed, waving Tara through alongside him. As they proceeded down the long hall beyond the door the guard looked at Tara and awkwardly attempted conversation.

"So, I have to ask…" he began gruffly, "are you a new entertainer or what? I mean, I've seen some girls with bioluminescent tats like yours on the extranet but never in person. Figured they were too expensive for someone who would work in a joint like this."

The Batarian was referring to her nanomachine conduits, which had begun to flare bright blue- to the point that they were now visible through her clothes - as the noise of the club abraded Tara's fragile nerves.

The Batarian had handed her a superb cover on a silver platter, and she took it.

"Yah, got them done on the Citadel, there was a doc in the foundations who was willing to it on the cheap, in exchange for some… favors."

"Cool, they look good on you, anyway, boss lady's right through here, just let me scan you in."

The guard put his eye up to yet another retinal scanner. It pulsed and released an approving beep, the instant the door to Aria's office began to open, Tara put her left hand on the small of distracted Batarian's back and zapped him with a mid-power neural shock. He slumped to floor in front of the retinal scanner, drooling on the thick black carpet that lined the hall.

* * *

Nanomachines pulsed through Tara's conduits - now glowing green - and into her veins and nervous system, releasing synthetic adrenaline as they flowed, the resulting rush effectively slowed time as Tara stepped into Aria's office. Almost casually she zapped the two guards who flanked Aria's desk, reducing them into writhing heaps on the floor. Four more guards, one for each corner of the room closed in on her, leaving no apparent escape route. Her nanomachine conduits pulsed violet for an instant, and then her entire form faded away. Cloaked, Tara padded gingerly past a frantically searching guard and came to a stop right behind Aria. She put the Asari into a headlock as the cloak faded. The guards did an about face and trained their rifles on Tara, and, in doing so, put Aria into their sights as well.

"Shoot her you idiots!"

One guard fired a burst from his AR, each round was repulsed by Tara's Foucault field which encircled her and her hostage. Tara raised one arm, keeping the other around Aria, and fired an overload pulse from her omnitool at the chandelier on the ceiling of the office. The pulse jumped from the chandelier and fried all four guards, two of them discharged their weapons into the ceiling as they fell. While Tara had been focused on the guards, Aria had been charging a biotic blast, she released it, not only did the blast knock her out of Tara's arms, it also flung the human against the back window of the office, cracks spread like a spiderweb from where Tara hit. Bloodied, but not significantly injured, Tara returned to the fight. Aria launched a Warp bolt at Tara, and was shocked when it came right back at her. Tara's omnitool was now projecting a hard light shield, which she held out in front of her like a medieval infantryman fending off a barrage of arrows. The Asari backpedalled to avoid being slammed with the shield, and found herself trapped in one corner of the room.

Aria charged a powerful Warp bolt, sending it behind Tara, she guided it so that it would strike the human's seemingly unshielded back, but this was a futile effort. Tara's Foucault Barriers dissipated the bolt. The Asari was now exhausted, unlike Tech abilities, biotics actively drained the user's limited metabolic energy reserves. Hoping that the Warp bolt had at least thrown Tara off balance, Aria paused for an instant to catch her breath. Seizing the opportunity, Tara cast a compliance field over Aria - she was completely immobilized. Tara walked up behind Aria and put an arm around her waist, after unholstering the Asari's own pistol Tara placed it against her temple. Aria winced, expecting death, but, to her shock, the human dropped the thermal clip from the pistol, grinned and whispered "Bang, you're dead" before pulling away.

"Let's assess the situation." Tara began, pacing around the still immobilized but thoroughly enraged Aria."The 'queen' of Omega has been killed. Her entire, highly trained personal guard eliminated and all hope for reinforcements dashed by the jamming field that emanates from my body during combat."

Tara walked over to Aria's desk, picked up a delicate fluted cocktail glass and poured herself a drink from Aria's private reserve, grinning the whole time. She resumed pacing around Aria.

"With Aria dead, her inept second-in-command, Jord, will attempt to step in and fill the power vacuum, only to find that a fear driven cult of personality was the only thing holding the organization together. The Suns or Eclipse will move in to pick apart the carcass that was once the greatest empire of thieves and scoundrels that the galaxy has known since the great Salarian Red Sand ring of the 2770's."

Tara emptied the glass and set it back on the desk carefully.

"Meanwhile, I your assassin, and those who hired me, enjoy lives of leisure on a resort world far away from this twisted rock."

Tara paused, giving leave for Aria to speak.

"Are you going to kill me, or not b***."

"No."

"Then what was the point of this? Who hired you? And what the hell are you?"

"This? This was a sales call."

"What!"

"I know how your mind works, Aria, you're a sad, warped little queen of a sad little rock, its not the killing or the torturing that keeps you up at night, or feeds your paranoia, its the situation I have just described to you. Truth is, though, its an impossible situation, only one person in the galaxy is capable of taking you out, and I wasn't planning on it."

"I'm assume this is simply the most annoying way of saying 'bribe me and I'll let you out' that the galaxy has ever seen."

"No, I was thinking something a little more… stable."

"What do you want then, out with it!"

"Employment. If I work for you, I am not your enemy, if I don't work for you, then I'll work for someone who wants you dead, because, well, you aren't one for creating neutral feelings. If I am in the employ of an enemy, then we both know what will happen to you life expectancy." With this Tara dropped the compliance field around Aria, who slumped to floor, exhausted and unprepared even to stand on her own two feet.

Tara continued: "You've seen what I can do and I know that you have a hit list a kilometer long, give me gear, an apartment, and good pay, and I'll start working my way down it. No questions asked. You never even have to see me again if you like."

Aria struggled to her feet, walked to Tara arm outstretched as if she was planning to shake hands, and punched her in the stomach.

"What about my guards, you b***? It took years to train them… little good it did me."

"No one is actually dead, just immobilized, they'll be up and around in a few hours."

"Oh, I see, I thought I was going to have to take that out of your paycheck." Aria smirked. "You still haven't answered my other question though?"

"What was that?"

"What are you? I've never seen abilities like that, and those lines on your skin don't look like tattoos. I know the Suns are into tech and gene mods, but if they can produce this, then I'll need to take some steps against their operations."

Tara took a deep breath, and her face revealed that she was opening a painful psychological wound. She sat down on the edge of Aria's desk and fidgeted with a cocktail glass, unable to make eye contact with Aria.

"Full disclosure: My name is Tara, I was tank grown in 2173 by a human corporation in some lab on Earth. As far as I know these 'abilities' have always been a part of me, as have the nanomachines which facilitate and regulate them. The tank taught me how to control them with my mind, they are as much a part of me as your blood is a part of you and I doubt I could live without them. What they did, creating me, and the mods they made, were illegal, and if you listen to the neo-luddite extremists an abomination against nature. But my origin doesn't matter, I'm alive and I'd like to keep it that way. I know how to kill very quickly, and don't feel very bad about it afterward, a function of the nano's and their emotional suppressants most likely, they bred me to be a superb assassin, I know no other way of life."

Aria handed her a data pad with a map of Omega, an area near Afterlife was tagged with the word "personal apartment."

"You're a freak, but you know your place and you know your role. I value that in an employee. Now go, and I never want to see you again. If anybody comes after you because of what you are, don't come to me."

Tara stood up, put the glass back down, and stepped out of the room, smiling.


	4. Chapter 4

Black Widow, A Mass Effect Fan Fiction By CmdrSlander [Zefram C. Slander]  
Chapter 4

The apartment Aria had assigned to Tara was normally reserved for visiting VIPs. Accordingly, it was fairly large (by space station standards) with a bedroom, study, bathroom, and kitchen. In the study, Aria's people had installed a secure extranet terminal and arms locker, the former would be used to relay target information clandestinely and impersonally, allowing the Asari to keep her almost-assassin and arm's length. A large picture window in the bedroom looked out over Omega's decaying, scorched skyline and doubled as a 2D vid-call terminal. The room's themselves were decently furnished and clean, but had the same dim sodium-vapor lighting panels that were pervasive throughout Omega. They gave off a sickly orange-green glow that Tara was not fond of.

After looking over her new home, Tara proceeded to the arms locker and put her rifle away. Relaxing a little, she unbuttoned the uppermost button on her uniform and slipped off her shoes. Her nanomachine conduits dimmed to a faint blue as she calmed.

"You told Aria too much. If the Asari wished to sell you out she could easily do so."

The voice was back. It liked to intrude on her when she felt peaceful.

"I didn't tell her what company or who was in charge of the project. This galaxy is full operations just as shady as the one that created me. Nothing I told her would lead her to VK. Trust is surprisingly important to people like her; she needed to think I was willing to give up valuable information in a show of good faith. Running a single fleck of my skin through a decent gene-scanner could have told her as much about me as I did."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night. How have you been sleeping by the way?"

"I'd sleep better if you would leave me alone."

"You know I can't do that, Tara."

A chime from the 2D comm panel in the bedroom snapped reality back into sharp focus and banished the voice momentarily.

Tara stepped over the window and pressed the side of the pane, answering the vid-call. The window opaqued and an exacerbated looking Salarian materialized.

"So you're Aria's new synthetic pet?" Began the Salarian.

"I am in her employ, yes. And the term you are looking for is 'enhanced' not 'synthetic.'" Tara replied, glaring at the Salarian.

"Don't care. You're kind is only useful in a lab or out the airlock. I digress, not my problem. I am the owner of Zerk's Tactical Arms, Aria ordered me to open a small part of my stock to you, for use on her 'errands.' Come by soon or I may misplace it. Zerk out."

The message fizzled back into the ether from whence it came. "Closed-minded bastard."

* * *

Even on foot, Zerk's Tactical Armaments was only a few minutes away from Tara's apartment. The fairly large shop dominated the upper markets, to enhance this, it was adorned with bright holographic panels and old style neon lights. The largest holo-panel, positioned just above the main entrance, displayed a Salarian - Zerk - holding two smoking machine pistols (one in each hand) and grinning towards the camera: "Our prices will blow you away, I promise." The caption read. Inside the shop civilians and mercenaries mingled with sales associates, arguing over prices and striking poses with their new firearms for omnitool holo-pics. Zerk was at the far back of the shop, behind a display counter flanked by two hired Eclipse mercs with very high-end Revenant medium machine guns.

"Zerk?" Tara inquired.

"Yes, unfortunate that you made it so quickly, but what else should I have expected from a synthetic. Your new armor is ready but the rifle Aria assigned to you is under repair."

"Under repair?"

"Yes, Aria's guard captain was having our gunsmith look at it, in an attempt to increase thermal efficiency, but it blew out the secondary accelerator circuit. It will only be a few minutes."

"I can't go into an operation with an unreliable rifle."

"I assure you, the malfunction was a result of the unorthodox modification, which has since been removed."

"I like to have a look at it while your 'smith has it disassembled, to see if this 'modification' had any other side effects."

"Very well, but I'm not doing this for you, synthetic"

Tara cut in: "Enhanced…" Her nanomachine conduits and irises flared blood red.

"… I am only obliging your needless request because Aria may misconstrue my refusal as an attempt to stonewall one of her employees, and the scars from my last meeting with her regarding that subject have only recently finished healing."

The Salarian motioned to a doorway on his left with the words "Employees Only - Hazardous Equipment Present" emblazoned on it. Tara entered, brushing past an annoyed looking guard.

* * *

The back room of Zerk's Tactical Armaments was dimly lit and smelled of solder, gun oil, and coffee. 100's of firearms in various states of repair hung from racks on the walls, a large workbench occupied the rear quarter of the room. On a stool in front of the workbench Tara observed a humanoid figure slumped over, asleep or passed out, head cushioned on their hands.

"Great." She thought. "The gunsmith nodded off in the middle of repairing my rifle. That really says 'we value customer service'."

Annoyed, Tara walked over the sleeping figure, and was shocked to find that it was an Asari - few would ever be interested in such a un-abstract, manual job (gunsmithing could be artisanal but Tara doubted that Zerk was overburdened with concern for quality). Not too mention, the job was usually taken my members of more hoplophillic races such Turians and Batarians.

Tara shook the Asari's shoulder and ordered: "Wake up" in a hushed but firm tone.

The Asari practically jumped off the stool, spilling the cup of coffee that had been perched on top of a repair manual next to her head.

"Zerk, I'm sorry, I'll get back to work, don't hit me Zerk, I…" The Asari pleaded. She calmed as she focused on Tara. "You're not Zerk."

"My name is Tara, that rifle you were working on is for me." Tara motioned toward the disassembled, glossy black XM-13 Strike Raptor on the bench.

The Asari flicked on a cantilevered work light, it bathed workbench and herself in a bright fluorescent glow. Now able to fully see the Asari, Tara quickly realized why she was stuck in a gun shop at the wrong end of the galaxy: The Asari was mottled. Mottling was an exceedingly rare, technically benign, recessive trait in Asari that resulted in large, irregular patches of substantially paler blue, violet, and/or lilac skin across the body. It carried massive stigma in Asari society, owing to fact that the trait only emerged in fourth generation or later purebloods. Therefore, it not only indicated that the Mottled Asari in question was a pureblood, but that her family had at least a 4000 year history of "unproductive" bonding. Most Mottled Asari were unable to find employment or admission into university and lived marginal lives on the fringes of Thessian civilization. Those that could afford it quickly left the home world and often lived reclusive lives on forgotten colonies. Tara knew of Mottled Asari because of rumors of anti-Council terrorist groups supposedly led by or comprised of such persons, rumors likely spread - and certainly not denounced - by the Asari government.

The Asari sensed that Tara was focusing on a patch of pale lilac skin that covered most of her left cheek and made an awkward, self conscious attempt to cover it with her hand.

"Your rifle is almost ready, I'm sorry about falling asleep, I don't get many breaks. Its fine though, I've got stims." Tara's unnaturally sharp senses noticed a faint trembling in her voice that revealed how close the Asari was to breaking down from nervous exhaustion. Tara was not the helpful type, but something, somewhere inside her compelled her to try and aid the Asari.

"A moment ago, you said Zerk hits you. Is that true?"

"Sometimes, only when I don't get all my work done on time."

"How often is that?"

The Asari stared at the ground, unable to meet Tara's eyes. "Most days."

Tara noticed a small cot off in the far side of the room. "Do you live here?"

"Yes. Zerk keeps me here so he doesn't have to pay me."

"Look, why don't you finish working on the rifle and I'll go have a talk with Zerk."

"No, don't, you'll just make him angry."

"We'll see, that may not be all I do to him." Tara's nanomachine conduits flared red again.

* * *

Tara hit Zerk with a fully charged repulsion field, slamming him into a display of "Zerk's patented dura-shoot enhanced thermal clips." The entire store stopped and stared. Several guards took aim at Tara. She turned to face them, launching a Sabotage burst from her omnitool at the first guard, the red energy arced from his Revenant into those of the other guards near him, melting their thermal clips into place, rendering the pricey machine guns into unattractive paperweights. She turned back to Zerk, who was struggling to haul himself up off the floor. Tara pulled him up by the collar and pinned him to the wall. In her free hand, her omnitool spawned a standard, electrically charged, forked omniblade. Tara placed the omniblade against his throat. The Salarian squirmed as small sparks arced from the overcharged blade across to his neck.

"I know slavery is legal on this rock, but if I so much as feel that you have mistreated that Asari again, ever, I will hunt you down. This isn't an idle threat, you know what I'm capable of, you've seen what I can do."

Tara edged the omniblade closer to Zerk's pulsing jugular.

"…and I want you to know that you are pathetic, prejudiced swine. You are exploiting that Asari because you know you can get away with it because of her condition, and you only hate me because you think I'm similar to pure synthetics like the Geth. Well I'm not like the Geth…"

Tara let the Salarian drop to the floor and put her foot on his chest, pinning him down.

"…it would take at least five of those overrated toasters to take this place.."

Tara morphed her omniblade into an orb of flaming plasma, holding in her hand without flinching, flames crept up her arm and did not so much as singe her skin (the nanomachines had formed a protective mass effect field around the flesh in the immediate vicinity of the orb).

"…I could destroy you with a stray thought. Remember that."

The plasma dissipated and Tara allowed Zerk to stand.

"All right, lady. Message f****** received." Zerk looked at his customers, who were still watching in awe. "Buy something or get out you slack- jawed rubes!" The customers made for the exit. "D*****" the Salarian swore.

The Asari had been watching in awe from the door to the back room, she had Tara's new rifle, the XM-13 Strike Raptor, in her arms. As Zerk regained his composure he turned to look at her.

"Give the b**** her rifle and go back to work, we'll talk later, Asari."

The Asari glared at Zerk.

"My name is Morgana." She said defiantly. In a smooth motion Morgana raised the menacing black rifle to her shoulder and pulled the trigger. "Not that it matters now." As flames lanced from the Raptor's barrel a 9x54mm Jacketed Hollow Point slug slammed into Zerk's scull at 5,000 feet per second, splattering bits of it in a wide spray across of the side wall of the shop.

The Asari handed Tara her new rifle, their eyes meeting for a moment as she did.

"Thanks." Morgana whispered, shaken.

"No problem. Aria would have had me kill him eventually anyway." Tara smirked. She tapped a few commands into her omnitool, sending a data packet to Morgana's own omnitool. "I doubt this guy had friends, but if anybody tries to retaliate for this, you call me immediately. I could use the target practice."

Tara holstered the XM-13 Strike Raptor and strode out of the shop, several downtrodden looking, underfed Turians in Zerk's Tactical Armaments 'sales associate' uniforms, who had been cowering outside the shop since the commotion had begun, started clapping.

* * *

**Secret Bonus Section/Cut content (not canon):**

_A/N: I considered adding this bit, but deemed it too out of place for the main story, as it is a fairly obvious reference. If I had left it it in, it would occur immediately following Morgana handing Tara the rifle after killing Zerk. I found it too funny not share, however, so here it is:_

"I though you were an assassin, Tara, but is this what you really do - travel the galaxy, writing wrongs?"

"Of course not." Tara laughed. "I'm not properly equipped for that."

"What do you mean."

"Well, let me see... I'd need a bowtie, suspenders, and some kind of tweed jacket. Oh, and a lovely young companion. Haven't got one of those."

Morgana smiled at Tara, "Not yet..."

**_END NON CANONICAL SECTION_**


	5. Chapter 5

Black Widow, A Mass Effect Fan Fiction By CmdrSlander Chapter 5

April, 2173 Hong Kong, Artificial Oceanic Expansion [Indigent Persons Housing Sector*], District 7, 4:19 a.m.

Cool, slightly acidic rain pattered down onto Tara's forehead. Perturbed, she adjusted the hood of her tattered jacket and turned inward, facing the uncaring concrete of the gutter. Her head ached, as did every muscle in her legs, she had been running for days. Only in the anonymous immensity of the city had she found some refuge from the VK recovery teams, who rightly feared for their personal safety in the IPHS*. Her left temple was bruised and emitted a dull pain at all times, not bad for a point blank gun shot wound - nano biological self repair was an amazing thing. Still, she saw the barrel of the doctor's pistol every time she closed her eyes, heard the shot every time the noise of the traffic softened.

The voices were constant and varied. She heard temperature readouts, EM spectrum analysis, stranger's comm conversations, snippets of philosophy, combat tactics, and strings of completely disconnected words with only faint meanings - the remnants of failed imprints.

Spurts of gunfire erupted from the west side of the Oc-Ex: gang wars, drub lab raids, and simple homicide.

A thought that was not her own drifted through Tara's mind: "When all the world is overcharged with inhabitants, then the last remedy of all is war, which provideth for every man, by victory or death."

The gangs were fools, of course. Her instincts and her imprints told her that. They thought they were strong because they had numbers, weapons, and silly uniforms. Those with the true power wore no uniform, needed no weapon, and were each a thousand dire threats. One simple act of violence was all that was needed to alter history irrevocably, her imprints told her: Lexington and Concord, La Bastille, Fort Sumpter, Booth, Princip, Tibbets, Oswald…

Tara spotted long shadows creeping across the wall to her left. VK? No, their shadows were too irregular, the weapons they cradled were nonstandard. Tara played dead, hoping they would pass, thinking her another casualty of starvation or drugs.

"The f*** is that?" One of them called, pointing towards Tara.

"Dunno, it's glowing…"

"Enforcement mech?"

"Ya know those things got self destruct orders. Wouldn't find one in the gutter."

The apparent leader of the group picked his way over to Tara, she tried to remain still, but felt herself trembling.

"What've got here?" He questioned mockingly, recognizing that he had a live girl.

He reached for her, pulling her up by her hair, Tara struggled for a moment, he hit her. Seconds later she was gone - completely vanished. The lead gangster drew in a gulp of breath as a punch hit in him in the face from out of nowhere. He fell to the ground. Tara's unstable cloak faded, the three remaining thugs converged, a poorly formed ball of plasma caught one of them in the gut, he pawed at the wound as the fire spread to the rest of his body, in an instant he was gone, turned to ash. The other thugs ran, one made it the end of the street, the other headed for an alley but never made it, a Neural Shock arced off a lamp and into his skull, fully charged, the shock liquified his brain.

Tara collapsed, disgusted with herself, she had killed VK troopers to escape The Project, but their armor and kinetic barriers protected them from wounds as gruesome as those she had just inflicted. Thunder cracked the sky above her as Tara slipped into unconsciousness, rain poured down onto the neon drenched streets around her. A distinct Voice whispered: "To this war of every man against every man, this also in consequent; that nothing can be unjust. The notions of right and wrong, justice and injustice have there no place."

2185, Omega. 36 hours after the incident at Zerk's Tactical Arms

Tara crawled out of bed and padded over to the restroom. She was visibly shaken, her eyes were bloodshot and her skin was ashen. Nausea accompanied the dull, hot, throbbing at the back of her skull. She ran the faucet for a moment and then splashed the icy water on her face. This wasn't normal, normal organics could be haunted by old traumas of course, but Tara felt everything, remembered everything, it was like playing back a high definition sensory vid, not the distorted images weathered by years of context that most humans called memories. "Hold together" she told herself "You've been doing this for 12 years - you've lived with this for 12 years." The nanomachines were active everywhere in her body, including her brain, and for 12 years they had dutifully suppressed "non-mission critical" emotions, with nothing resembling guilt or fear surfacing for more than a few minutes at a time. They were breaking down though, and so was she.

Tara rubbed her shoulders and slumped against the wall. Her imprints told her to compartmentalize what she was feeling, to adapt to stress and blank out trauma, and she did - for now. She took a deep breath and walked over to the secure terminal in her study, the "new message" light was flashing. Tara opened the message, it contained no text, but a heavily encrypted video file. When she selected the file, her omnitool pulsed to life of its own volition, scanning her unique DNA signature. "Confirmed" it beeped. The file opened.

An armored Turian, Aria's captain of the guard, stared blankly into the camera.

"Is it running?"

A Salarian voice spoke from outside of the frame. "Yes. Don't you see the red light."

"Oh, of course, yes." The Turian clicked his mandibles, his race's equivalent of clearing one's throat.

"Tara Voss…" he began in the gruff but formal tone that was common to aging ex-military Turians "I am contacting you on Aria's behalf, she wishes to inform you that a high priority contract has been assigned to you, and that all your resources and efforts should be, henceforth, focused on its completion. Due to the highly sensitive nature of this contract I cannot name the target or give any further details except in person. Meet me in the lower section of Afterlife at 13:00, by the bar. "

The lower of section of Afterlife was busy, but not nearly as packed as it was during peak hours. Tara took a seat at the bar, the Turian had not yet arrived. In a futile attempt to blend in with the other patrons, Tara ordered a drink. Forvan, the Batarian bartender, filled a glass with some mysterious blue alcohol and slid it down the bar to her. Tara sipped it tentatively as Forvan watched with anticipation. Tara coughed, the Batarian smirked. To his shock, however, she recovered and took another drink. "Strong stuff." She remarked. The Batarian looked shocked but still responded, trying to act casual, "Yes, its my house special…"

Aria's guard captain took a seat beside Tara and waved Forvan away.

"Your target is a Volus named Lufme Mord, he used to be big in legitimate biomedical research, but went bad a few years back. He used his expertise and connections to establish the highest output Red Sand and Minagen X3 lab on Omega. He now fancies himself the 'king' of the lower expansions. This wouldn't be a problem, Aria has never been too worried about the LowExes but Mord is starting to muscle in on her rackets and is showing signs that he may be considering a move into the main rock, which is, as you know, our little blue Boss's turf. Normally we'd just roll him out an airlock, but his chem savvy is matched only by his paranoia - half of the Blood Pack on Omega are under his employ. A frontal assault on his lab would be suicide. He does have one weakness though…"

Tara interrupted: "I am NOT going to seduce this idiot."

"As I was saying" the exasperated Turian continued "Lufme does have one weakness, he loves fast air cars, he goes driving almost every cycle, buzzing his operations in the lower expansions. Its impossible for the Blood Pack's mainline troops to keep up with him. Aside from a few Krogan bodyguards in the car with him, he'll be totally exposed. He leaves tonight at 19:00, intercept him and introduce his skull to some tungsten."

The Turian pulled up a map of the Lower Expansions on his omnitool, the hologram floating above the bar.

"This is his route, he starts at his lab and goes more or less in a circle, past the tenements here, through this construction site, and back to his lab. You will hit him when he enters the construction site, he'll be forced to slow down and you can pick him off when does so."

"Where do I set up?" Tara questioned.

"We can't risk a stationary hide, you'll be taking the shot from another air car…" A holographic projection of an Omega taxi appeared on the map. "You and I will be waiting for him here and enter traffic in front of him as soon as he slows for the construction. At that point, I'll open your door, you'll lean out, and make the kill."

"Alright, sounds like it should work, if you can keep the air car steady…"

"I flew fighters in Artimech wing for 45 years, you don't have to worry about that."

-  
Six Hours Later

The Omega taxi hovered just above the landing pad outside Tara's apartment block. The passenger's side gull wing door hissed open, Aria's guard captain nodded and Tara climbed inside. She was wearing her new armor, a version of the jumpsuit favored by Asari commandos, it was glossy black and completely unmarked. Her equally new, equally black XM-13 Strike Raptor sniper rifle was clipped into place on her back by standard maglocks. The air car sped away, the Turian quickly demonstrated his affinity for taking turns late and slamming the engines into full burn as he came out of them, causing the air car to drift dramatically.

"This isn't a normal taxi, is it?" Tara asked.

"I made some modifications: took off the governor, trashed the VI, overcharged the eezo core."

"Might be useful if we get made and need to escape from Lufme's goons."

"That was my thinking, but if your as good as I hear you are, then that isn't going to happen."

The air car crossed into the lower expansions, merging into the endless ribbons of traffic that entangled the tenement towers. One tower was under construction, its surface covered in scaffolding. The taxi nestled into a dark corner of the deserted construction site and waited for Lufme Mord. A candy apple red air car zoomed into view, its lights flickered as the Volus behind the stick slowed to navigate the scaffolding.

Tara pointed: "There he is, go! Go!"

The Turian pulled the taxi out of its hiding spot and accelerated, putting them about fifty meters ahead of the Volus' car.

"Ready?" The guard captain asked.

"Ready." Tara responded. The guard captain pressed a button the haptic panel next to the control stick, opening the passenger's side door. Tara turned to face the rear of the car, leaned out of the door and unholstered her rifle. In seconds it unpacked itself, the barrel extending to a menacing 24 inches as the scope deployed from its protective housing. Fighting the wind blowing past her, Tara steadied the rifle, bracing herself against the taxi's dash. Her nanomachine conduits turned ice white, her heart rate slowed, as did her breathing, and the chaotic sounds around her faded to a dull hum. She put the Volus' inverted pumpkin shaped skull in the scope, which was completely steady - despite the movement of the two vehicles. Tara pulled the trigger.

Her first shot pinged off the windshield. Kinetic barriers. Crap. She fired again, the second shot was also deflected. By this time the Volus had traced the vapor trail from her shots and accelerated towards the taxi. What was he doing? Soon Tara had her answer. A missile pod deployed from the air car's underbelly. Tar leaned into the cabin of the taxi and shouted:

"He's got kinetic barriers and missiles, break off!"

"Can you get through his barriers?"

"I'd need far more time then we have right now."

"Keep firing anyway, distract him!"

Tara leaned back out and took some pot shots at the Volus' air car. A retaliatory missile arced away from the pod beneath it. Tara focused intently on the missile, and, with the last round in her thermal clip, put a shot straight through the warhead, destroying it in flight. Tara slipped back into her seat.

"I'm out. Did you know he had weapons?"

"No, my intel said the air car was completely unarmed."

"What do we do now?"

"I'll try to lose him." The Turian banked the air car and turned into oncoming traffic, narrowly dodging scores of onrushing vehicles.

"Head for the construction site, I doubt he'll be able to keep up with your driving!"

"Good thinking." The Turian kicked the engines into afterburner, the air car shuddered as it bolted towards the construction site. A beep sounded forth from the dashboard.

"Incoming Missile! Evading!" The missile slammed into the side of the unfinished tenement tower, tearing a massive hole into the glass facade and sending flaming debris out in all directions. A loud groan emanated from the tower as the remaining sides, now burdened with supporting load previously born by the destroyed side, gave way. The upper half of the tower fell to one side, taking out swaths of traffic. The uppermost portion of it crashed into a nearby tenement tower, tearing through at least 40 stories before coming to rest.

"Spirits!" The Turian guard captain swore. "Is he still on us?"

Tara peered out of the rear window, the red air car closed in on them, four missiles sped away from it.

"Yes! And he just launched four missiles."

"Four? We can't hold off four!"

"I can!" Tara shouted. She opened the gull wing door and hauled herself around it and onto the roof. Kneeling, she placed a palm on the roof of the taxi, her conduits glowed deep crimson as a blue Foucault field surged out of her body and formed a bubble around the vehicle. The first missile approached and was repulsed, as were the next two. The fourth missile slammed into the field and collapsed it, the missile itself barely missed the taxi, but the shockwave of her field failing flung Tara off the roof. She fell at least 70 meters before whacking into a passing air truck, coming to rest on the hood. Above her, she saw the Volus fire his remaining missiles at the guard captain's taxi, he masterfully dodged two, but three more impacted the engine compartment.

The taxi stalled out, heavily damaged but not destroyed. The Turian put it into a nose dive, as Tara watched, still dazed from the fall, she barely perceived small slats on the bottom of the taxi open. She heard a distinct mechanical whine and the rear of the damaged taxi glowed blue again, its mass effect fields returning to life. The taxi banked and descended towards Tara as Lufme, how thought he had already one, hastily pursued. The guard captain pulled up alongside the air truck and Tara jumped back inside.

"What was that?" Tara demanded.

"Ram Air Turbines, I used the nose dive to force air into the ventral intakes, powering a small turbine which charged the mass effect core with enough electricity for an emergency restart. Simple stuff really."

Tara checked their six: "He's coming back around. Can you get us behind him?"

"On it!"

The guard captain decelerated, allowing Lufme to pass them.

"Alright, now get me above him and keep us steady."

"What?"

"I'm going over, just keep us steady."

The Turian pulled his taxi into place directly above the the Volus' sky car, Tara started to open the door, but it simply fell off halfway through the motion, not surprising after the abuse the taxi had taken. She leaned out of the doorway, took a deep breath, and jumped to the red sky car below.

Lufme heard Tara hit the roof and began to roll to shake her off. Tara slid onto the windshield, blocking his view. Tara slowly shifted her weight to her right hand (both hands were clinging to a small docking clamp on the top of the shuttle), tentatively she then released her left hand's grip. Now that it was free Tara placed her left hand against the windshield, she fired an energy pulse which shattered it instantly. Tara rolled into the driver's compartment, and before the Krogan bodyguards in the backseat could react, grabbed the Volus, opened the side door, and jumped out with him. [Geronimo!]

It was easily a 300 meter fall to the bottom floor of the lower expansions from where Tara had jumped. She held tightly to the Volus, aiming him squarely at the ground. At 200 meters Tara's nanomachines began to generate an emergency mass effect field, which slowed the pair considerably but not enough to save either of them without assistance. Moments later, the two slammed into the ground, Tara heard every bone in the Lufme's body break and his suit rupture. He was dead, as planned, and his pressure suit had cushioned the impact considerably, allowing Tara to survive (barely). She peeled herself off the splattered Volus, and wiped some his thick blood from her armor. Relieved and terrified simultaneously, Tara limped a few feet then sat down on the floor, her back against a massive structural bulkhead for support.

After a few minutes, the Turian Guard Captan arrived, setting the battered taxi down next to the Volus' corpse, expecting to find Tara there as well. Tara called to him from where she was resting.

"Spirits! How did you survive that?"

"Thank the Volus." Tara joked as she coughed up some of her own distinct slurry-like nanomachine ridden blood.

"Are you all right."

"Technically, I'm dead, but that's only temporary." She smiled and closed her eyes. Swarms of nanomachines fanned out via the conduits to every injured organ and broken bone, large patches of Tara's body glowed blue-green as the tiny devices saved what they could and grew replacement tissue. After the nano's assigned to her lungs finished their work, they allowed themselves to be carried away. For a few minutes, Tara's every exhale was tinted blue by thousands of glowing nanomachines carried out with the normal airflow.

The Turian watched, rapt. After several tense minutes, Tara opened her eyes.

"I didn't know human's had redundant systems." He remarked.

"I'm not quite human." She replied, uncharacteristically open, still delirious from her injuries.

"What?"

"It's complicated." Realizing what she had said Tara backpedalled away from the self-incrimination. "Anyway, you said that the Volus worked for a major biomedical firm, did his dossier mention the name of the firm?"

"Voss-Koight, I think, said he was an off-world bio-chem technologies director. Why do you ask?"

"Don't worry about it, one last thing though…"

"Go ahead."

"Are you absolutely sure this contract came from Aria, did she give it to you in person?"

"No, it came to my secure terminal, it had all the right signatures though, didn't give the security program any cause for alarm. She had never really mentioned Lufme before though…"

Tara stood up, slightly unsteady but no longer limping, she climbed into the pilot's seat of the taxi.

The Turian looked at her, puzzled. "What are you doing!"

Tara started the taxi's engines: "I have to get off this station." 


End file.
